


A place among the stones

by randomcelt



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Gen, I think?, In-universe mythology references, Meta Poetry, Metaphors, Poetry, all the metaphors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-04
Updated: 2015-01-04
Packaged: 2018-03-05 10:27:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3116672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/randomcelt/pseuds/randomcelt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p> <br/><i>In the white of the world,</i></p>
<p>          <b>H o p e </b>is a bird locked in his chest.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <span class="small">Bran cries river-water now, or wolf tears,<br/><span class="small">for the winds of Winter ring him round<br/><span class="small">and his deadened frame is all but past enduring.</span></span></span></p>
            </blockquote>





	A place among the stones

**Author's Note:**

> Be ye warned: here the metaphors pile thick as the snows of winter.

In the white of the world,  
Hope is a bird locked in his chest.  
But its wings buffet his ribs, breaking his breath to pieces,  
because how could the world right its wrongs?  
How could Father come riding home from his long sleep  
or his hearth raise itself from the ashes?  
How could the sky mend its tatters?

The stories sing beneath his skin,  
whisper in the voice of heroes:  
 _Nothing unbroken will be healed;_  
not all those who wander are lost.  
And how could he forget that  
 _the Kings of Winter endure all things?_  
But, but, but --  
those lines lie crooked where he laid them,  
jarred and jostled from the Fall. 

He makes every river stone a dragon-slayer,  
given to the water and laid out in state beneath the tide  
until the current becomes a grave-robber and steals their faces.  
Only the bird-eyes above his heart, three and bright,  
see him mourn the northern knights,  
grey-eyed, grey-armored, great-hearted,  
those sons of a just and noble land.

Bran cries river-water now, or wolf tears,  
for the winds of Winter ring him round  
and his deadened frame is all but past enduring.

But, but, but--  
when the white of the world cracks in two  
and a silver sun makes diamonds of the frost,  
when he has found his father's trees  
and their leaves braid round like red water,  
then the smoke of his breath curls with raven feathers,  
iridescent as the dawn.

_The Kings of Winter endure all things,_  
hale beneath the frost.  
Hope yet remains to their their broken son.

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as a verbal vomit attempting to deal with a portion of my Starkling feelings. I poked at it and tweaked it until I thought I could do no more good, and now release my efforts into the wilds of the internet. What thinkest thou?
> 
> I also went a little crazy with the HTML. Forgive me. 


End file.
